Page 11 of Death on Gallows Path

“How did you react after they told you about your sight?”

He’d tensed at the first word, braced against another try at How did it happen?

He didn’t totally relax when it went a different direction, but he didn’t block this question.

“Didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t believe it. Argued with the medical types.” He grimaced wryly. “Didn’t do any good. Eventually, got it through my thick head.”

I could only guess he’d experienced the well-known stages of grief. He’d alluded to denial, then jumped to an off-hand version of the final stage of acceptance. But what of anger, bargaining, and depression?

“It’s an interesting process.” He sounded like a scientist. Maybe he needed detachment to reach acceptance. Or it could be a carryover from his law enforcement training. Keep observing no matter what. “The brain has to rewire itself to accommodate not getting as many signals and that the signals it does get can be skewed.

“It’s not fast. In my case, the brain wiring had to keep adjusting.”

“Why?”

“An infection in the eye. Hard to shake. Kept delaying things.”

“Oh, Teague—”

He raised one hand, somewhere between a halt sign and a dismissive wave. “It’s in the past. Brain adjusted to how it interpreted visual messages and I got better at compensating when messages left holes. Thanks to special programs. Seeing how they taught me and others to get around an issue — physical or otherwise — was what got me interested in teaching.”

“You’ve said teaching lets you try to get to kids before they might cross paths with law enforcement.”

“True. After the injury, it was—” His flicker of hesitation heightened my attention. “—frustrating. Teaching channeled that into something useful.”

“Quincy said you could have stayed—”

“You’ve talked to Quincy?”

“Clara said Quincy said,” I amended. She’d connected with Teague’s former partner by phone, then she met him in person when she visited the Chicago area with Ned a while back, cementing the friendship. “That’s good enough for me.”

“Hearsay.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but meant it.

“You’re not a lawyer. I’m not giving evidence,” I shot back.

“There’s nothing secret about why I didn’t fight to stay with my old department,” he said evenly. “A new chief had come in about a year before. I didn’t like his spin on things I didn’t think should be spun. He saw me as an impediment to remaking the department the way he wanted. He knew I wouldn’t pretend to be loyal to him.”

His wry grimace resurfaced. “Quincy said we could keep doing what needed being done — and he has, along with a number of other folks I worked with there. Not always easy for them.

“Anyway, when my eye was injured, the chief pushed to get me out.”

“People let that happen?”

“No. The community board and people in the government backed me, along with my chain of command and fellow officers.”

“But then—”

“I pulled the plug. I didn’t know what was ahead for my sight or how long it might take . . .”

He looked away, then back to me.

“That’s only partially true. Under our old chief, I’d’ve stuck it out. I didn’t want to work for that guy feeling like he was doing me anything resembling a favor.”

“Oh.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I can understand that. I might feel the same way, though other than jobs in school, I haven’t had bosses. Well, except Kit, which was so different . . . “At some level I was aware of his silence letting my thoughts go where they wanted. “Kit would certainly feel the same way you did.”